Writing is an adventure. To begin with, it is a toy and an amusement. Then it becomes a mistress, then it becomes a master, then it becomes a tyrant. The last phase is that just as you are about to be reconciled to your servitude, you kill the monster and fling him to the public.

— Winston Churchill

Abundant Blog Fodder for the New Year

There’s no place like home, and after a road trip that was a full day longer than It should have been, there’s really no place like my own bed.

Christmas in Vermont was like a carefully wrapped piece of magic in a red quilted stocking hung with care. It’s wonderfully nostalgic and comforting to spend time with family, to share traditions with my son and two nieces, and to break bread with my adult self while in my childhood home.

My parents, as usual, were extraordinary hosts who did things like call in their favors with Mother Nature to ensure a white Christmas, and then plow all the flakes into mountains so Aaron could race in an orange sled; they fill their cupboards with food we love, and humor me by allowing my two huge German Shepherds to shed all over their house.

We had a grand time and with so much merry making, I was surprised to find my mother a tad distraught. When probed, she explained there was something on her mind that really needed addressing and she went on to issue a formal complaint … about my blog.

She’s upset that so many posts in 2008 were dedicated to picking on her, but none were dedicated to dear Dad. All is fair in love and blogging, apparently, and she thinks I should spend equal time teasing my father in this rather public forum. My dad, after realizing she was serious and that I may just spend our holiday time digging for daddy dirt, proceeded to walk through the door every night with multiple bottles of wine in-hand. Looking back, I realize his sudden desire to turn me into a chardonnay swilling maniac had nothing to do with holiday cheer and it had everything to do with impairing my memory of the last ten days. He even threw in a little rum-laced eggnog for good measure. I must have forgotten how dangerous it can be to underestimate my father.

As we head into 2009, I’ll be digging through the recesses of my aging mind to appease my mom and tease my dad. I’m not a New Year’s resolutions kind of girl, but this does seem like an appealing goal.

Once I’ve unpacked our suitcases, filled the fridge and tackled the pile of work that didn’t disappear while I was on vacation, I also want to tell you about the interviews I conducted with my grandmother, aunts and mother as I started the memoir writing project I’ve mentioned. I have hours of tapes to transcribe and wrap my brain and emotions around.

I’d be remiss not to also mention that our last night in Vermont was spent with the Prick Doctor. Yes, I finally met the man with the needles and of course he’s worthy of a post, or two.

The New Year does indeed promise a plethora of blog fodder and musings, (hopefully my friends and family will still be speaking to me by year-end), and I’m looking forward to catching up with all of you.

Wishing everyone a Happy New Year!

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